Her eyes scan mine with curiosity as my words remain trapped. I never considered myself a serious person, I liked to have fun too. But lately I was forever being the adult for the both of us and that may be due to the pressure I felt to be the next big thing. Pressure that stems from management . . . and myself.
“I do know how to have fun, Mom,” I respond flatly.
“Last Friday night you were pairing socks, adamant that there is a secret place in the universe where socks migrate to leaving you forever pair less.”
I smile, relaxing my shoulders. “There is, right? You’re a mom, surely you should be telling me where this place is?”
Mom strokes my cheek with her hand, calming my agitated mood. “Kid, it’ll forever remain a mystery, but if you ever find out, promise me you’ll tell me first?”
“Pinky swear.”
There’s a commotion coming from the hall. Doors slamming and a gust of wind following. Seconds later, my brother walks in with his usual shit-eating grin, dumping his bag onto the ground.
Mom is quick to wipe her hands on her apron, bringing him in for a hug. Ash towered over her, but still looked like a little momma’s boy when she fixed his dirty-blond hair and parted it to the side. It’s hard to believe we ar
e twins considering we looked nothing alike, aside from our blue eyes and the few freckles that were scattered around the bridge of our noses.
Throughout my childhood, I swore it was a ploy to bring us close together and that we weren’t twins. Ash was adopted from some alien form that spawned around the time I was born. It explained why he had the IQ of a peanut.
“Missed ya Ma.” He grins, eyes wandering to the plate parked in front of me.
It doesn’t take him long to acknowledge my presence. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my long-lost famous sister.”
“Well, well, well,” I mimic. “If it isn’t my annoying brother with some sort of foot fungal disease.”
Ash moves around the counter, letting go of Mom, and wrapping his arms around me from behind. I kinda missed the fucker, despite how much he annoyed me. He hadn’t changed much since I saw him last year, still sporting some weird crew-cut and growing a mustache to hide his baby face. I don’t know how he became this man-whore with that awful mustache. And of course, he still wore the same clothes. Adidas everything. It’s like the brand threw up all over him: shirt, shorts, shoes, even socks. A walking billboard.
Just when I think I missed him and it’s good to have him around again, his giant man hands swipe the last piece of cake on my plate, throwing it into his mouth.
“Hey,” I complain, releasing myself from his overbearing hug.
“You snooze you lose.”
“I wasn’t snoozing, you ape!”
“One minute and the two of you can’t go on without fighting? I thought absence was supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” Dad chuckles, placing his keys on the counter and standing beside Mom.
“Not when dear old brother texts you a million times a day. There’s no absence.”
Suddenly, Ash’s demeanor changes—almost nervous. He does this thing with his eyebrows where he twists the ends of them almost as if to distract him. I knew something was up but much like Mom and Dad, was completely in the dark.
I’m about to call him out on it till Logan—my brother’s best friend—and a mystery woman, walk into the kitchen. Logan flies through girlfriends like I go through underwear, so it didn’t surprise me that she was here yet I found it rude and annoying that he didn’t have the courtesy to inform us that a stranger would be joining us.
Logan’s face breaks out into a mischievous smirk, the same one he would have when he played pranks on me when we were younger. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s taller than me, in actual fact towers over me like Ash. Add to that a muscular body instead of ten-year-old pre-puberty kid fat.
And he got rid of the bowl haircut.
According to some magazine, he was named hottest athlete of the year. I remember reading that article thinking Logan Carrington . . . really? The same boy that practically lived in our house and was Ash’s Siamese twin. Let’s ignore the fact that I was his actual twin.
Age would change anyone and despite the fact that I hadn’t seen him in over two years, nothing much changed except his legs were covered in tattoos. He wore shorts which gave me a view of the intricate patterns and drawings. I couldn’t get over it—staring rudely while Ash rambled on about something. I’m surprised Dad or Mom hadn’t said anything either. Logan is like a son to them and Dad was anti tattoos. A reason why Ash kept the one just under his stomach a secret. It was some bro-code-drunken-night-out and when he tried to text me a pic, I was quick to point out that I almost threw up in my mouth at the sight of his pubes.
What fascinated me about the tattoos on Logan is that his arms were ink free. Usually the arms were the first place you would get inked, not the legs. Nevertheless, I backed my rude stare away from him and onto Ash and his grubby face.
Logan moves around the kitchen and stops at Mom, embracing her in a tight hug and not letting go for a while. Something smelled fishy. Aside from the lingering smirk, his ash-brown hair is flicked to the side styled with a line cut through the lower part. A fad that is apparently rocking this generation. He runs his hands through it, lifting his bottle-green eyes to meet mine. I jump off the stool as he walks around the counter towards me, and wrap my arms around him. With my bare feet and stretching on my tiptoes, I whisper in his ear, “What are you up to?”
He holds me tight, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hated to admit that he smelled good. Some fancy aftershave designed to lure women.
Bringing his lips close to my ear, his tone is smooth. “This will send you in a tailspin.”